


Billets-Doux

by Sarahtoo



Series: Romantic Overtures [4]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 16,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Phryne have gotten into the habit of writing to each other, even after Phryne returned from England. Drabbles that take place as they go on together after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4562967">More than Letters, Kisses Mingle Souls</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Nothings

**Author's Note:**

> So far these are pretty tame—T-rated—but we’ll see where they go. I’m not sure how long I can hold the smut at bay, honestly. :D

Phryne woke to the slant of midmorning light, alone in her bed. She was not a morning person, so she rarely expected to find Jack still abed with her. He had to be at work at some ungodly hour every day, and he usually left while she was sleeping on the nights he stayed with her. Still, she searched for him every morning, stretching out her arms to touch the side of the bed where he slept, wishing that the cool sheets still held the warmth of his body.

This morning, the sheets were cold, but her reaching hand discovered a folded sheet of paper, propped up against Jack’s pillow. Phryne gave a sleepy frown and raised her head, bringing the paper to her face and squinting at it to focus her as-yet-unwoken eyes. The outside said “My darling Phryne” in Jack’s messy handwriting. She smiled, knowing what this was. Ever since her trip to London to ferry her father back to his life, Phryne and Jack had been writing to each other. Even now, months later, it was a rare week that didn’t find one or the other of them sitting down to pen a letter.

Each letter was different, in form, content, and delivery mechanism. Some of the letters had been multiple pages long; others were only a sentence or two. Some were prose; others consisted of a poem or lines from a play or book. Some letters were erotic, describing some new (or familiar) way in which the writer wanted to demonstrate their love; others were heartfelt or innocent, funny or serious. But all of them were ardent. They grew out of the feelings she and Jack had for each other. Every one showed a facet of the love the writer had for the recipient, and Phryne and Jack kept them all. The box Phryne had purchased in London would soon need to be replaced with a larger one, and she knew that Jack’s box was even more full than hers.

Tingling with anticipation, Phryne pulled Jack’s pillow toward her and wrapped her arms around it, breathing in the scent of him that remained there. She made herself comfortable on the bed, opened his letter, and began to read.

 

_My darling Phryne,_

_Did you know that you snore? If I weren’t so very much in love with you, I might object, but in truth, I find it endearing. Your darling snuffling pleases me because it shows me that you are not the absolutely perfect creature that I always considered you. It makes you more accessible, and it has become a music that I require to get a good night’s sleep._

_Every morning that I leave you at break of day, I wish that I could stay, snugged up beside you in whichever bed we are sharing. The privilege of sleeping beside you is one I never tire of. And when I get to wake beside you as well, I am content._

_Have a wonderful day, my love. I will see you for dinner, and until then, I look forward to holding you in my arms again._

_Yours, Jack_

 

Phryne smiled a sweet, silly sort of smile that she never would have guessed could feel at home on her face. Darling Jack. She adored his sense of humor and his willingness to make himself vulnerable so that she would always know how he felt. She looked forward to the coming evening. She would kiss him senseless when she saw him. And then they could argue about his slanderous accusations of snoring.


	2. Serve and Protect

Jack returned to his office from the interrogation room to find a small cloth-draped basket on his desk. _Fantastic,_ he thought. _Lunch!_ He slid into his chair and peeked inside.

When Dot Collins had begun including Jack in the lunches she brought to the station every day, Jack wondered whether Phryne had requested it. He thought she probably had. It was the kind of taking care that Phryne was good at—showing her feelings with her actions rather than peeking out from behind her mask of careless thrill-seeker to say them in words. Jack could always tell, though. The touch of her hand would linger just so; she’d smile slowly, her eyes telegraphing the naughty thoughts she was harboring; he’d find a shirt he’d thought done for clean and mended in his closet. Or she’d send him lunch. Granted, she didn’t do some of the tasks herself—Jack had never seen Phryne with a mending needle (he doubted he ever would), and judging by their late-night kitchen raids, the kitchen was not her milieu—but he could see her hand in the end result. She could see the needs of those she loved, and she took steps to meet them.

Lifting out the bowl of chicken and fried potatoes, Jack peered into the basket, looking for the flatware and napkin he knew would be there. Lying beneath the knife and fork was a small folded note. Jack smiled and, setting the bowl aside, reached in to pull out the letter, which was addressed to him in Phryne’s neatly flourished hand.

 

_Darling Jack,_

_I just wanted you to know that I am thinking of you, alone in my boudoir, right now. I hope that you enjoy your lunch, but I do hope that you will make it to dinner tonight. I have a very special dessert planned._

_~P_

 

Jack’s appreciative smile at Phryne’s rather broad hint was small; if anyone had been looking, they might have missed it. He considered the work he still had to do on this case. The interview was done, but there was paperwork. It could wait. He quickly packed his lunch back into the basket and pulled on his overcoat. Settling his hat on his head, he took up the basket in his other hand and headed out the door.

“I’ll be taking my lunch at home today, Collins,” he said quietly, as he left. “There’s something I need to take care of.”


	3. Making Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, they can't *all* be love letters, can they?

Phryne sat at the writing desk in her study, her pen scratching furiously. Setting the pen down with a snap, she whipped the letter angrily through the air to help the ink dry. Folding the letter roughly in half, she stood, clutching it in one hand. The color was high in her cheeks, and her eyes were narrow. She could practically feel the steam building inside her chest, trying to form an infuriated scream.

Jack stood in the parlour, nursing a whiskey. He knew she was here. She’d stormed away from the station two hours before, heading off to do the very thing that he’d wanted her to avoid. He’d blundered, and he knew it. He’d once again let his fear get the best of him, and he’d said things that he hadn’t really considered—or even meant, if it came to that. Phryne was who she was, and he loved her that way. He rubbed his eyes with long fingers; he was an idiot. At the beginning of their affair, he would have been scrambling to apologize, worried that he’d push her away. He knew better now—they were in this together for the long term—but he still knew when he owed her an apology. He hoped she’d be in a mood to listen to it soon.

When Phryne came into the room like a tornado, her angry energy fierce enough to take off the roof, Jack knew that she wasn’t ready yet. That didn’t stop him from trying, though.

“Phryne, I— ” he started, but she cut him off.

“Don’t.” She came at him, leading with her head agressively, teeth gritted and mouth a severe line. Stopping in front of him, Phryne raised her hand and smacked him in the chest with a piece of paper. Reflexively, he reached up to clasp her hand, his head tilting and his lips pressing together in a concerned line. Phryne pulled her hand away, leaving the paper behind. Then she whirled and practically ran out of the parlor and up the stairs.

Jack’s mouth fell open as he watched her go; his hand tightened against the ache in his chest, crinkling the paper she’d left there. A letter. Maybe that was a good sign? Maybe she’d released her venom onto the paper, effectively lancing the wound he’d caused. If that was the case, it’d heal that much faster. He sighed, and looked down at the letter in his hand. Setting his tumbler on the mantel, he unfolded the paper and began to read.

 

_Jack,_

_I am so very angry with you, I am barely coherent. How could you think to forbid me to do something that would help both you and my client? My work is just as important as yours. Why would you think, after all this time, that I cannot be trusted to do it? I have already completed my “foolish” errand, and I am neither injured nor compromised from it. I also managed to get the information we needed, which I will share when I can bear to speak to you again._

_I cannot feel anything but betrayed by your lack of faith in me. Even if the plan I made was not ideal, your belligerent growling was not the way to convince me of that. I thought better of you, Jack._

_P_

 

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, his lips tightening again. _Dammit, why did she have to be right all the time?_ He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, gulping the rest of his whiskey to brace himself, he followed her upstairs, prepared to take his medicine.


	4. Rules of the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I couldn't leave it there. So here, have another.

Phryne breezed out of the house, moving toward her beautiful Hispano-Suiza with joy and pride. How she loved this car! Its powerful engine and smooth handling made her want to drive fast all the time, a fact that she well knew made both Dot and Jack rather ill. But she didn’t care. Her time in the war as an ambulance driver had prepared her better than most on the road for the hazards she might encounter. She had absolute faith in her own ability, and although she could understand her friends’ hesitations, she had no concerns of her own.

Breathing in deeply of the fresh spring air, she climbed in. As she settled in the seat, she noted an envelope affixed with sticky tape to the steering wheel.

“What’s this?” she murmured. Pulling it free, she carefully slid her gloved finger under the flap. As she unfolded the letter and the distinctive handwriting came into view, her smile grew. _Jack._

 

_My darling,_

_I am certain that you will not heed my words of caution, but please drive carefully. I would appreciate not having to attend either your bedside as you recovered from the injuries sustained in a motoring accident or your trial for homicide by motorcar. You are of infinitely more use to me alive and unincarcerated._

_Your Jack_

 

Phryne shook her head as she tucked the letter in her handbag. She supposed that she appreciated his sentiments, but really. She was an excellent driver. Perhaps she’d swing by the station and see if she could coax him out with her for a bit. She was sure she could assure him of her skill behind the wheel quite convincingly if she were to put her mind to it. With a broad grin, she stepped on the gas, roaring cheerfully away from the curb.


	5. Long Distance

_Monday_

_Dear Jack,_

_I find it wretchedly unfair that I was not allowed to accompany you to Geelong to assist in training the officers of the city’s constabulary in investigative skills. I have been a special constable for some time now, and my business taught me a considerable amount even prior to that. And now you will be away for two weeks? It’s completely unacceptable. I may have to drive down to spend a few days as your assistant, once I clear up my own cases here._

_I miss you! I sleep so much better when you are beside me than I do alone, although that might have to do with the way that we tend to exhaust ourselves before we try to sleep. And even though I have the whole of the bed, I wake to find myself snuggling your pillow, and it makes me miss your warmth even more._

_I am certain that this training position will not be fraught with danger, but if you should stumble apon an interesting case, I hope you will be careful. If you come home to me damaged, I will be very put out._

_Your Phryne_

_* * * * *_

_Wednesday_

_Dearest Phryne,_

_There is no danger here in Geelong except that you will come to join me. Your very presence would likely sow discord among the rather green officers of this constabulary. They would be too distracted by your loveliness to listen to my plodding lectures. As much as I do miss you—at least you have my pillow to cuddle; I have only the memory of you—please consider staying home. I will join you as soon as I am finished here._

_I know you well enough to know that although you don’t have me to exhaust you before sleep, you have other ways of tiring yourself out. I will think of that as I retire to my lonely room every night._

_As you finish up your case, keep yourself safe too. Burglars can get rather testy when they’re caught, so be sure to tap Collins for backup when you have come to the sticking point on your case._

_All my love, Jack_

_* * * * *_

_Friday_

_Darling Jack,_

_I cannot believe that any officers you trained could be so easily distracted! Although it’s probably true that they aren’t as interested in gazing lovingly at you during your lectures as I would be. You know I find your lectures enticing. I especially love it when you lecture me on safety. I find myself quite unable to concentrate on the content of your words at times because I am so distracted by the sound of your voice. It just rolls across my skin!_

_I think that I will ponder your voice as I am readying myself to sleep tonight. If you have suggestions for what you’d be saying, I am very willing to take dialogue pointers._

_Thinking of you, Phryne_

_* * * * *_

_Saturday_

_My Phryne,_

_I am certain that whatever dialogue you were to put in my imagined mouth for your own prurient purposes would be better than what I can put on paper for you. As long as it includes protestations of my feelings for you and how you feel to me, I am certain that it will be accurate and to the purpose._

_While you are putting words in my mouth, perhaps my own sleep readiness regime tonight will include considerations of how I might put your mouth to use. I am certain that these thoughts will be enough to tire me out sufficiently to get a good night’s rest._

_Take care of yourself, my darling._

_Your Jack_

_* * * * *_

_Tuesday_

_My Jack,_

_Perhaps I could just come down on the train on Friday to accompany you home? I could meet you at the station; there is a train arriving in Geelong at 6:00 pm with a Melbourne return at 8:00 pm. Or there is also a Melborne return train at noon on Saturday. I’m told that the hotel you’ve been booked into in Geelong is rather nice, with particularly interesting architectural elements, such as lovely big bathtubs and beds._

_P_

_* * * * *_

_Wednesday_

_P,_

_I look forward to seeing you on Friday. Be sure to let Dot and Mr Butler know that you won’t be home until dinner on Saturday at the earliest._

_J_


	6. An Unexpected Occasion

Jack reached for his handkerchief to offer it to the victim’s mother. Her young man had been involved in a drunken brawl over a perceived bad call at a footy match, and the man he’d fought with had thrown a punch. Unfortunately, when the punch landed, it had sent the young man reeling back into a short wall, which he tripped over. He’d fallen 15 feet and landed on his head. At least Jack could tell his mother that he’d died instantly, with no pain.

Pulling the handkerchief out of his pocket, Jack saw the flutter of paper that came out with it. He reached to catch it, brow furrowing as he wondered what it might be. Handing off the handkerchief, he tucked the paper into an inside pocket in his jacket to read later.

Once he was back in the police car, the young man’s mother as comforted as he could make her, he pulled the paper out. Unfolding it, he saw that it was covered in Phryne’s handwriting. With a smile, he opened it.

 

_Darling Jack,_

_It has been eight months since I returned from London. Eight months since you and I started our own adventure, and I find that I fall more in love with you with every day that passes. I know that you once had concerns that I would tire of you, but how can one tire of a man with endless mysteries and a boundless imagination in the boudoir?_

_I am so happy that you are with me, Jack. I love that I can smell your scent on the bedclothes every morning, even though you’ve left to start your day. I love seeing your suits lined up in my dressing room like tidy soldiers. I love how you come home to me, but you also come home to Jane—your help with her Shakespeare class has been invaluable. I love the professional pretense that we aren’t lovers, which just makes our every case feel like one long bit of foreplay._

_Think of me today, my Jack, and know that I will be waiting for you when you arrive, ready to welcome you home._

_All my love, Phryne_

 

Jack’s smile as he’d read the letter had faded, replaced by a feeling of fullness in his chest that raised a lump in his throat. She didn’t often use the words, and when she did, it was precious. He read the letter again, and then a third time. Breathing deeply so as not to let himself be overcome, Jack tenderly folded the letter and tucked it into his wallet. He’d carry this one with him, next to his heart.

Starting the car, he considered whether getting back to the station could stand another delay. After all, it was his eight-month anniversary, and Phryne deserved something lovely. Smiling to himself, Jack decided that the station could wait.


	7. Words of Love

Jack grinned at Dot as he passed her the folded note to be included on Phryne’s breakfast tray. Dot’s sweet return smile told him that not only was she happy to help him in his mission to surprise Phryne with another letter, she was thrilled that he would go to the effort. He headed out to work, sure in the knowledge that Phryne would be assured of his adoration as she nibbled her morning toast.

Phryne woke slowly to the sound of Dot bustling around the room, opening the curtains to the late-morning light and gathering up the previous night’s scattering of clothing. Jack’s clothes, as always, had been neatly put away, but Phryne’s were still laid out haphazardly. She’d gotten better about at least piling her clothing in one place most nights, but when Jack was as… enthusiastic… as he had been the night before, there was no telling where the pieces of her ensemble had ended up. _Sorry, Dot,_ Phryne thought sleepily.

Sitting up in bed, Phryne reached for the cup of coffee on the morning tray Dot had brought up. She cradled the cup in both hands, inhaling the rich aroma, before taking her first forifying sip. Two sips later, she set the cup down to pick up her toast and knife in preparation of adding just the right amount of butter. As she reached for the butter, however, her eyes fell on the piece of paper tucked under her toast plate. Relinquishing the toast and knife, she picked up the letter and thrilled to Jack’s scrawl contained within it.

 

_Darling Phryne,_

_“We cannot live, except thus mutually_  
_We alternate, aware or unaware,_  
_The reflex act of life: and when we bear_  
_Our virtue onward most impulsively,_  
_Most full of invocation, and to be_  
_Most instantly compellant, certes, there_  
_We live most life, whoever breathes most air_  
_And counts his dying years by sun and sea._  
_But when a soul, by choice and conscience, doth_  
_Throw out her full force on another soul,_  
_The conscience and the concentration both make_  
_mere life, Love. For Life in perfect whole_  
_And aim consummated, is Love in sooth,_  
_As nature’s magnet-heat rounds pole with pole.”_

_~~_

_Phryne, you make mere life, love._

_Your Jack_

 

Phryne’s low gasp caught Dot’s attention.

“Is everything all right, miss?” Her companion’s concern was evident in her voice.

“Oh yes, Dot,” Phryne replied, her voice soft and unsteady. “Jack just left me a letter.” Phryne could feel her heart beating hard in response to Jack’s ardent words. _He is the best thing that ever happened to me_ , she thought. _How did I ever go through life without him?_

Dot’s eyebrows rose. When the inspector had stopped her in the kitchen to give the letter for Miss Phryne’s tray, she’d wondered what it was, though she hadn’t read it, of course. Dot loved seeing the two of them so happy! Looking at Phryne now, Dot rather thought that the inspector’s note must be a love letter—Phryne’s eyes were glassy and her slightly parted mouth trembled; one of her hands held the letter up, and the other rested at the base of her throat.

“Dot, I have a job for you,” Miss Phryne said abruptly, finally raising her eyes from her perusal of the note.

“Of course, miss!”

“Give me just a moment—I want you to take a message to Jack, but I want Hugh to deliver it. Do you think you can make that happen?”

Dot nodded. Miss Phryne’s eyes were shining, and her smile was wide and brilliant.

Phryne rose from the bed and crossed to the bookshelf in the corner of the room. Pulling out a small volume, she took it and sat at her dressing table, flipping through until she found a specific page. She opened a drawer and extracted a piece of stationery and a fountain pen. Laying the paper in the center of her blotter, she held the book open with one hand and began to write.

When the ink was dry, Phryne folded the letter carefully and sealed it in an envelope. She wrote “Detective Inspector Jack Robinson” across the front in her careful hand, then slipped on her robe and headed down to the kitchen to pass her letter to Dot.

Jack was sitting at his desk when Hugh knocked softly on his door. Without looking up, Jack answered.

“Yes, Collins?”

“Mail for you, sir,” Hugh was proud that his voice managed to remain even; he knew that when he was uncertain, he managed to make almost any statement sound like a question, and he was definitely uncertain now. Dottie seemed to think that the inspector wouldn’t consider this to be meddling in his affairs— _wrong word, Hugh_ —in his _relationship_ with Miss Fisher, but Hugh wasn’t so sure. He swallowed and passed the letter into his inspector’s waiting hand before backing out the door and closing it behind him with a soft click.

Jack didn’t notice Hugh’s withdrawal. He’d recognized Phryne’s handwriting on the envelope, and he was already smiling as he reached for his letter opener.

 

_Dearest Jack,_

_Strephon kissed me in the spring,_  
_Robin in the fall,_  
_But Colin only looked at me_  
_And never kissed at all._  
_Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,_  
_Robin’s lost in play,_  
_But the kiss in Colin’s eyes_  
_Haunts me night and day._

_Before I left for England, the kisses in your eyes haunted me. Now, the kisses from your lips will haunt me all the days of my life._

_Your Phryne_

 

Jack closed his eyes for a moment. He knew that Phryne had had other men in her life. He rarely wondered any more whether she ever regretted taking up with him over all of those other blokes, and so, it seemed, he’d not realized that he needed something exactly like this note to lay his final fears to rest. She loved him; she didn’t regret giving up the others.

Jack carefully folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope, smiling. He would place it in his overstuffed letter box—he really needed to get another—tonight, when he was home. But first, he’d see if he could haunt his Phryne a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s poem is “Love,” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)  
> Phryne’s poem is “The Look,” by Sara Teasdale (1884–1933)


	8. Little Melodies, Part the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds a note from Phryne in the parlor.

Jack moved toward the piano, stretching his fingers and anticipating some time playing jazz in Phryne’s parlor. She was out for the afternoon, and he had considered reading or puttering about in the kitchen garden, but the music was calling.

He pulled up the bench and lifted the key cover, trying to decide what song to start with, when a piece of paper fluttered off of the keys to the floor. Leaning down to investigate, Jack picked it up. It was a piece of Phryne’s stationery, and as he unfolded it, he caught a whiff of her favorite perfume. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he tilted his head and read.

 

_Darling Jack,_

_The first time I saw you at this piano, I was amazed. At the time, you and I were still dancing around each other; we had just come from a pretense of a relationship (and yes, I was definitely dating Archie Jones), and I was, to be truthful, having a difficult time separating myself from that fiction. After days of listening to your wonderful voice on the radio (you know what your voice does to me) and evenings spent in your company working on the case, I was ready to ravish you._

_And then you sat down at my piano and played jazz with your beautiful, strong hands. I nearly swooned. When I sat down beside you to sing a duet, I had to force myself not to watch your hands caress the piano keys, and even when I looked away, I found myself imagining those hands caressing my skin instead. Had you been a fly upon my boudoir wall that evening, you would have seen the effect you’d had on me—it was some time before I was calm enough to sleep after you left._

_Now that I have felt your hands on me, I find that my initial suspicions were correct. Your touch is addictive, inspector, and I find myself craving it at the strangest times—in my aunt’s parlor when you are mentioned over tea, in your interrogation room as you question a suspect, over dinner as you cut your roast beef. Your hands, with their strong fingers, wide palms, and thick wrists send thrills of anticipation through me, and I long for the moment in which we can retire, when you will use those hands for my pleasure._

_I look forward now to your reaction to this letter, as I am certain that I will be very pleased indeed._

_Your Phryne_

 

Jack shook his head, smiling as he read the letter through again. Refolding it and placing it on the side of the piano, he positioned his hands to play, and then paused. Lifting his hands, he examined them, trying to see what Phryne saw. He saw long fingers, slightly nobbly knuckles, and short-trimmed nails. His palms were wide, to be sure, but they and his wrists seemed to be in proportion to the rest of his body. He had callouses on his fingers from gripping the handlebar of his bicycle, from digging in the garden, from practicing his punches in the station gymnasium. His hands didn’t appear particularly lovely to him. He placed them back on the keys and began to play, idly beginning _Body and Soul_ as he continued to think.

Now Phryne’s hands were beautiful. Slender and pale, with skin so soft. He contemplated the feel of them sliding into the hair at the back of his neck or caressing his body. He shuddered a little, remembering how she’d used them to bring him pleasure just the night before. Swallowing, he tried to pull his thoughts from that laneway—he didn’t plan to use up his piano time needing to relieve his sexual tension, not when Phryne would be home soon.

Smirking, he segued into a Gershwin song that made him think of Phryne whenever he heard it; his voice was a baritone growl as he sang the lyrics.

_Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you  
Embrace me, you irreplaceable you_

_Just one look at you_  
_My heart grew tipsy in me_  
_You and you alone_  
_Bring out the gypsy in me_

Jack heard the parlor door open and glanced up to see Phryne framed in the doorway, a smile on her face. He continued singing, meeting her eyes as he did, and putting all of his feelings for this woman into the words he sang.

_I love all the many charms about you  
Above all, I want my arms about you_

_So don’t you be a naughty baby_  
_Come to papa do_  
_My sweet embraceable you_

Ending the song with a flourish of the keys, he grinned up at Phryne, who had closed the door and crossed to stand beside the piano, her fingers fiddling with the letter that lay there.

“You found my note,” she said, her eyes twinkling at him.

“I did,” he said, rising to go to her. He stepped close, crowding her against the piano. “So you like my hands on you, do you?” He stroked the back of one hand down the side of her face, the other coming to rest on her hip as he pressed himself against her.

“Oh I really do,” she breathed, her eyes on his lips. He cupped her face, his thumb under her chin to tilt her lips up to meet his.

“Perhaps there are other ways to play on the piano that we haven’t yet tried,” he said, his voice a low rumble. His hands closed on her waist, lifting her to sit atop the baby grand. When he felt her hands slide into his hair, he smiled. “Let’s see what these hands can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued… in chapter 8 of [Down and Dirty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4809062). :D


	9. On Jane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack writes a letter to Phryne on the subject of Jane.

Phryne sat down at the writing desk in her study, preparing to spend some time tending to her bills and correspondence. She needed to write a letter to her mother; she’d left it far too long. Oh, and she should see if Bert and Cec could find her some more French champagne—she was running low, and who knew when there would be something to celebrate?—and possibly some Russian caviar.

She pulled out the chair and sat down, smoothing her skirt beneath her, her thoughts on her to-do list until she saw the small white envelope centered on the desk blotter with her name written in what passed for Jack’s best handwriting. A smile tugged at her lips as she reached for the letter. Opening it, she settled back in the desk chair to read.

 

_My darling Phryne,_

_I have so many things to be thankful for now that you are in my life, you yourself being first and foremost. But after you, the thing I treasure most about our life together is Jane. Thank you for letting me into Jane’s life, and for not objecting when I took a paternal role with her. I thought that I would never be a father; I had made my peace with that. And then you gave me Jane. Well, more accurately, Jane gave me herself (she has learned from her guardian that it is her right to choose the people she loves), but you made that gift possible, either way._

_When you took her in, you saw in her the potential for greatness, and you have nurtured that potential in a thousand ways since. Your willingness to let her be who she is, to give her the education she needs, and even to take responsibility for the care of her birth mother, have all worked together to reveal the diamond that lurked beneath her urchin’s dirt. Jane is a remarkable young woman; your guidance has helped her grow into the possibilities you saw in her that very first day on the Ballarat train._

_For a woman who vowed never to be a mother, you are an amazing one to Jane. I did not think that I could love you more, but the way you are with her warms me every time I witness it. I look forward to many more evenings spent with my love and our daughter._

_Your Jack_

 

As she read, Phryne had teared up and one hand had flown up to cover her mouth. How did he always manage to move her with his words? She sniffled a little, clutching the letter tightly, her eyes running over it again. She knew that she was helping Jane, that Jane was growing into a wonderfully strong young woman, but to have him say it so baldly filled her heart with love and pride.

And Jack was right. Phryne had never intended to be a mother. She still worked diligently to ensure that she didn’t fall pregnant—she didn’t like babies, as a rule, and she hoped that she would not be forced to make a decision about whether to allow one to take up habitation in her body. But Jane had captured her from the beginning: Her determination to help her friend escape from that horrible man, and her self-sacrificing attempt to save Phryne from his clutches—how could Phryne not love her?

When Jack had come to live with them—even before that, if she was honest—Jane had taken to him like a duck to water. They were very alike, both studious and mostly serious, but with an undercurrent of silliness that could be called out if one tried. That he now considered Jane his daughter suffused Phryne with warmth.

Phryne shook her head in wonder as she slid the letter back into its envelope. She counted herself lucky to have found all of the members of her little family, but adding first Jane and then Jack had made the family complete. With a small smile and a light stroke of the envelope with its wonderful message, she applied herself to her work.


	10. Christmas Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas, and Jack and Phryne have each saved a special gift for the other.

On Christmas morning, Jack and Phryne sat curled together on the window seat. Jane lay stretched out on the rug in front of the tree, absorbed by the copy of the collected works of Shakespeare that Jack had given her, the open boxes of the rest of her presents arrayed around her, their contents of dresses, books, and sweets showing in colorful disarray.

Jack dropped a kiss on Phryne’s hair, his hand stroking her upper arm. She hummed with pleasure, her fingers making small circles on his stomach through the new dressing gown he wore.

“I have one more gift for you,” Jack murmured. Phryne raised her head from where it had been nestled on his shoulder.

“You do? You already gave me so much, Jack,” Phryne adored the silver beaded earrings he’d chosen, and the book of naughty poetry, and the pale blue silk robe she now wore, but she knew that Jack’s funds were limited. “Well, as it happens, I have one more gift for you, too.”

He smiled down at her. “You’ve already given me the contents of half the shops in Melbourne, Phryne!” He particularly liked the new suit she’d chosen, a gorgeous navy wool, and the silvery gray tie. He was glad she hadn’t bought him something extravagant, like a car. He wouldn’t have put it past her.

She grinned cheekily back at him, stroking the lapel of his dressing gown, a black silk creation that she’d known would look delicious on him.

Shaking his head, Jack continued. “I left mine upstairs—to be opened in private.”

“So did I,” she said, “shall we adjourn there together?” Jack nodded, and Phryne uncoiled herself to stand. She looked at Jane, who hadn’t moved, then took Jack’s hand to lead him up the stairs.

A few minutes later, they sat facing each other on their bed, each holding a gift wrapped in the red and green tissue paper and ribbon that had hidden all of their presents this year. They looked at each other.

“You first,” Jack said, his eyes warm. With a tilt of the head and a sweet smile, Phryne tore into the wrapping paper. It amused Jack to see how feral she was in her unwrapping practices. He would have thought that her childhood would lead her to a careful unsticking of the edges and a pristine pile of tissue to reuse. But instead, she dug her fingers in and tore, pieces of paper piling up around her like a nest. When she’d divested the gift of its festive trappings, she smoothed her hands over the box they’d concealed. It was made of wood, inlaid with bits of ivory and semiprecious stones and painted with black and touches of gold. The image on top was Cleopatra in profile, her black hair shining and her kohled eyes mysterious. He’d found it in an antiques shop and hadn’t been able to resist.

“Oh Jack,” Phryne breathed, “it’s beautiful.”

“I saw that your letter box was getting full,” he said simply. “And when I saw this, it made me think of you.” Finally looking away from the box, Phryne leaned over to kiss him.

“Open yours,” she said softly, her hands rubbing the top and sides of the box cradled in her lap. Its surface was silky with age, the inlay almost perfectly flat to the top. She wondered who else had owned it, what treasures they’d kept inside.

“Oh, but—all right,” Jack said, turning his attention to the square package he held. Phryne watched him closely as he ran his hands over the rounded corners to find the seam in the paper. He was so careful about removing the tissue. She smiled. She thought that wrapped gifts were a rare occurrence for Jack, and she loved the way he savored opening them. He slid his long fingers under the side flaps, then along the bottom seam before pulling the paper off and setting it carefully to the side. His mouth opened in surprise at the sight of the box he held, its carved surface satin-smooth, the whorls in the grain of the burl it had been made from evident. Its corners were smooth, organic-looking, and its natural beauty had reminded Phryne of Jack’s garden.

“Phryne,” he said softly. “I love it.”

“Mine was not the only letter box that was getting full,” she murmured. He reached up to cup her face, pulling her to him for a long, sweet kiss. They were both smiling when they pulled apart. “Open it, Jack.” Tilting his head at her, he did, the hidden hinges lifting smoothly. Inside lay a white envelope with a simple “J” written on the outside in Phryne’s beautiful hand. He lifted it out and looked at her.

“Open yours,” he said softly, a smile working at the corners of his mouth. She sat up a little, surprised, then did as he bid, the lid of her box separating from the bottom easily. She set the lid aside and reached in to lift out the letter concealed within.

“It seems we had the same idea,” Jack said. Phryne’s smile grew.

“Should we read them now?” She asked, her fingers itching to open the envelope.

“If you want to,” Jack replied. He was turning the envelope in his hands, lifting it to his nose to smell her scent on the paper.

“Let’s do,” she said. She placed the lid back on her box and reached to set it on her dressing table. Jack closed his box and followed suit, setting it on the bedside table on his side of the bed. Then Phryne stretched out against the pillows and Jack turned to lay his head on her lap. Exchanging a grin, they each slid a finger under the flap of the letter they held.

 

_Merry Christmas, my darling Jack,_

_It is hard for me to believe that you and I have been together for the better part of a year. I suppose we were together in friendship for longer than that—it seems like there was never a time that I didn’t know you. When we became lovers, although I knew that you held my heart, I wasn’t certain that I could be faithful to one man for the long term. I was terrified that I would yearn for other men, and that I would hurt you because of it. But you have slipped into my life as if into a spot made just for you; you satisfy me in every way, and I hope that I satisfy you as well. Jack, I find it beautiful how well we work together, on so many levels; your willingness to be with me on my terms has made it easy for me to be with you on yours._

_I hope that this letter box will fill up as quickly as the first, and that we will make a habit, in the years to come, of finding new boxes to contain the words we write to each other. I know I don’t say it enough—it is easier for me to put in writing than to vocalize—but I love you, so very much._

_Ever yours, Phryne_

\-------------------------------------------

_Phryne my love,_

_As Cleopatra dazzled Antony, you have overwhelmed me. Although your beauty attracted me initially, it was your brilliant mind and your caring heart that swept me into love with you. As the philosopher John Bulwer said, “It is astonishing how little one feels alone when one loves.” Even before I knew that you loved me, just the fact that I loved you brought me back to life, opening up the dark places left by the war and the end of my marriage so that they would no longer fester. I would have been content with that, with knowing that the world was a better place than I’d imagined, purely because you were in it._

_But then you accepted me into your heart and home, and the light of you burned away the tendrils that remained of those dark places. You have changed me, my Phryne, just by being who you are. You have made me thankful for every day I am privileged to spend at your side, and over the years to come, I plan to fill this box and many more with letters that detail my love for you so that you will never be in doubt of it._

_Merry Christmas, my darling._

_Your Jack_

 

They finished reading simultaneously, and each looked to the other. Pushing up and turning to align his body with hers, Jack kissed Phryne, whispering his love for her into her mouth. She pulled him close, wrapping herself around him. She’d said that the words were hard for her to say, but on this occasion, she had no trouble saying them back to Jack. It was Christmas, after all.


	11. Long Distance, Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a favor to her aunt, Phryne accepts a case that takes her away from Melbourne.

_Monday, 21 January_

_Darling Phryne,_

_I hope that this letter arrives before you do, as I intended. When you told me this morning that you’d agreed to go on this trip for your aunt, I feel I should have been far more enthusiastic. All I could think of, however, was that you’d be gone for some unspecified amount of time. Without me. Is that not ridiculous? You are an excellent investigator, and you will do your aunt proud. I plan to make certain that you are under no illusions as to how much I will miss you while you’re away._

_In case you need police assistance, I have included a letter of introduction to Senior Detective Inspector Brett of the Warragul station, in case he can aid you in any way. He and I were constables together here in Melbourne before he moved to Warragul._

_Please do your best to close this case as quickly as may be, so that you can come back home. I promise to welcome you very very warmly._

_Your Jack_

=====

_Wednesday, 23 January_

_Dear Jack,_

_What a lovely surprise it was to find your letter waiting for me when I arrived at my hotel! Your demonstration of your faith in me was much appreciated, to be sure, as is the letter of introduction. Inspector Brett seems like a delightful man, and he remembers you fondly. He was disappointed to hear that you wouldn’t be joining me, but he asked me to say hello._

_I met with Aunt P’s school chum today. You will never guess the “heirloom silver piece” that was stolen from their country home—it’s a creamer in the shape of a cow, complete with a large fly moulded into the levered cover of the fill hole on its back. I’m afraid my face must have shown my disbelief—Lady B assures me that this is a collector’s piece, and that its sentimental value is even higher than what it is worth monetarily. I told her that I’d take her word for it, and that I’d do my very best to locate her treasure._

_This could be a very long week, Jack, not least because you are not here to laugh over this ridiculous crime with me. Think of me when you’re solving your more interesting capers; I can guarantee that I’ll be thinking of you!_

_Kisses, Phryne_

=====

_Thursday, 24 January_

_Dear Phryne,_

_They asked you all the way to Warragul to find a silver creamer in the shape of a cow? I know that you’re a ridiculously good investigator, but it seems like the local constabulary could have dealt with that, and I’d still have you here! I will have to have words with your aunt the next time I see her, I fear._

_I am glad that you’ve made friends with Brett—he is a good man. Please send him my regards; it has been a long time since I’ve seen him. I hope he and his family are well._

_I’ve had two murders to investigate without you already, if you can believe it. They don’t appear to be related, though I suppose one never knows. One victim was a solicitor, found stabbed in his parlor by his housekeeper; the other was a bartender who was hit over the head with a bottle of liquor. If you were here, you would immediately determine the motive and be well on your way to the killers’ identities, I have no doubt. I, however, am likely to need a little more time. Perhaps if I haven’t solved it before you solve your case of the missing cow, you will lend me a hand on your return._

_Hurry and find that creamer, darling. I’m ready for you to be home and in my arms._

_Your Jack_

=====

_Saturday, 26 January_

_It is late, Jack, and I find myself wishing for you. I have read your letter twice, and I find myself imagining all the things you will do once I am home and in your arms._

_I hope you have made progress on your murders—two at once! A veritable cornucopia of crime! I have every faith that you will wrap them up expediently, so that there will be no reason for the two of us to think of anything but each other when I finally come home to you._

_I think that I have a line on the creamer, thank goodness—an acquaintance of Lady B’s husband has apparently been itching to purchase the silly thing for ages, but has been repeatedly turned down. Unfortunately, the man is out of town until Monday, so I will play the social butterfly tomorrow while I wait. I considered driving home for the day, but Lady B has requested my attendance at brunch in the morning, and Aunt P would kill me if I offended her friend. So I will do my duty, but I’ll be thinking of you, darling Jack._

_Your Phryne_

_P.S. To be sure that you’ll be thinking of me when you receive this letter, I’ve included a second page that you might perhaps wish to close your door before reading. I’m hoping it will spark some ideas. We can discuss it when I return. Kisses, P_

=====

_Monday, 28 January_

_Phryne, love,_

_I cannot believe you sent that incendiary letter to my office. I hid it inside my jacket so as not to be cited for possession of indecent materials, and then I read it twice more when I got home, just to be sure that it really was as indecent as I remembered. It was, and I missed you terribly, first in the shower and then again when I climbed into bed. I do hope you’re coming home soon, darling._

_How was your brunch yesterday? Did Lady B introduce you to all of her society friends? I can’t wait to hear that you’ve uncovered the criminal element lurking in Warragul’s upper class—I would guess that it won’t take you much longer._

_As for my murders, it turns out that they may be connected after all. Both victims may have been stepping out with the same individual; perhaps they discovered his infidelity, and he panicked. At least I know who to look for next. I hope to find him soon; if he isn’t the perpetrator, he may know something that will help._

_When are you coming home again? I think it’s been a year since you left. I’m positively pining._

_Your Jack_

=====

_Wednesday, 30 January_

_Darling Jack,_

_If you are pining, I am as well! I miss you very much, and I am so very tired of Warragul. I miss my house, and my bed, and my lover; this hotel is very nice, but I miss being able to lounge about in my robe, drinking whiskey in front of my parlor fire._

_Your love triangle was between three men? Scandalous! Have you found your two-timer, and is he the guilty party? Why do such interesting cases wait for my absence? I wish that I was there to help you investigate. I am certain that I would be an invaluable asset._

_I have decided that I’ll be home on Friday, whether this case is solved or no. As it turned out, my suspect had an alibi, but I still think that the man has something to do with the disappearance of this ridiculous thing. I may need to take drastic measures to return this dreadful item to its rightful owner; it’s not as if he can claim it as stolen, is it?_

_And don’t worry, my darling, I promise not to do anything that would scandalize you too much, or that would cause trouble for your inspector friend._

_Kisses, Phryne_

=====

_Telegram sent Thursday, 31 January from Jack_

BE CAREFUL – STOP – MORE IMPORTANT YOU COME HOME THAN SOLVE CASE – STOP – GAOL NOT FUN – STOP - JACK

=====

_Return telegram sent Thursday, 31 January from Phryne_

CASE SOLVED CREAMER RETURNED - STOP – FOUND COW WRAPPED AS BIRTHDAY GIFT – STOP – WILL BE HOME ASAP – STOP - PHRYNE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame jasbo and fire_sign for the urge to blatantly steal the cow creamer from PG Wodehouse. Perhaps we can pretend that Phryne and Jack entertained him at dinner with this story while they on the adventures they’ll have in Europe during the movie storyline, and he cribbed it from them for his novel, which was published in 1939.  
> 
> PS: This will be continued in chapter 11 of [Down and Dirty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4809062), and soon. Tryna keep it clean here, people.


	12. Be My Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! ♥

Jack breezed into the kitchen one morning in February, shrugging into his jacket, his mind already on the case waiting for him at the station. Mr Butler was just sliding two eggs onto a plate aside a slice of toast, and a cup of tea sat steaming at his usual place.

“Good morning, Mr Butler,” Jack said, sitting down just as the older man laid the plate in front of him.

“Good morning, sir,” Mr Butler said with his soft smile. “Will Miss Fisher be joining you for breakfast this morning?”

“I don’t think so,” Jack said, smiling. “She went back to sleep, so chances are she’ll be some time yet.” He dug into his eggs with gusto, dipping his toast into the bright orange yolk.

“Inspector, may I ask you a question?” Mr Butler’s tone was tentative, though he watched with satisfaction as Jack ate. He did enjoy feeding people.

“Of course, Mr Butler,” Jack said, looking up. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Not exactly, sir,” Mr Butler said. “I only wondered whether you’d remembered that tomorrow is Valentine’s day?”

Jack froze, his fork halfway to his mouth; the piece of egg he’d scooped up dripped golden yolk to his plate. He’d forgotten completely, and he could tell that Mr Butler knew it. Lowering the fork to his plate, he turned wild eyes to Mr Butler.

“Oh lord,” he murmured, his mind racing. And this year, he had Phryne _and_ Jane to buy for. He should have begun a week ago. He scooped up his last bites of egg and pushed his chair back. “Thank you, Mr Butler. Once again, you’ve proven yourself to be invaluable.” Snagging his toast, he saluted Mr Butler with it before heading out to the front hall to gather up his overcoat and hat. He had some work to do.

~~~♥♥♥♥♥~~~

The following morning, when Jane came downstairs, she found Jack still at the breakfast table—a rarity on a weekday—sipping his tea and reading the paper. At her usual seat sat a small box resting on top of an envelope.

“Good morning, Mr B, Jack,” she said, rounding the table to sit beside him. Jack raised his head, his smile warm.

“Good morning, Janey,” he replied. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” She smiled happily at him.

“May I?” She always felt a thrill when she received a present. It was far more common since she’d come to live with Miss Phryne, but the years when she’d had to fend for herself were still fresh in her mind.

“Please do,” Jack said. He set his paper aside and watched as she lifted the box and opened it, smiling wider at her gasp. The necklace was dainty, the minuscule locket shaped like a heart, its golden cover etched with whorls that suggested flowers and vines. When she prized it open with a fingernail, she gasped again—a tiny photo of her mother rested inside. “But Jack, how…” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“I asked a mate at the station’s photo lab to reduce the image for me. Do you like it?” His soft eyes told her that he could tell she did, though her frantic nod made him smile again. “There’s more.” He nodded at the envelope, folding his hands together on the table. He was far more nervous about this part of the gift.

Clutching the locket in her hand, Jane opened the envelope carefully and began to read.

 

_Dear Jane,_

_Happy Valentine’s Day to the loveliest girl I know. I am so happy that I have been privileged to become a part of your life. You are smart, funny, and an absolute joy—and I feel so very lucky to have a daughter like you. I hope that you don’t mind me considering you as my daughter; I have come to love you as if you were my own. I cannot wait to see what you become as you grow up and take on the world, though it will pain me to see you leave the nest. When you go, I will celebrate with you, but I want you to know that you will take a piece of my heart with you._

_With love, Jack_

 

Jane’s eyes filled with tears as she read; when she was finished, she looked up at Jack. With a sob, she hurled herself into his arms; he caught her up, hugging her close.

“I love you, Dad,” she whispered close to his ear, and Jack’s heart melted even as his arms tightened around her.

~~~♥♥♥♥♥~~~

Phryne woke on the morning of Valentine’s Day, alone in bed. She vaguely remembered Jack kissing her goodbye as he left for work, and she smiled. She loved having him there. It surprised her, sometimes, how much she loved having him there. Even having been with him exclusively for more than a year, she was always happy to see him, to hear his voice, to make love with him.

Stretching, she opened her eyes to see the small wrapped package propped up on Jack’s pillow. With a small hum of pleasure, she picked up both the gift and the envelope that it rested on, and sat up, her back resting against her padded headboard as she pulled the ribbon to release the bow on the box. Flipping the lid open, she let out a breath, reaching in to lift out the brooch she found inside. It was a rose formed out of antiqued gold, each petal carefully crafted, its stem curving gracefully and its leaves meticulously delineated, each vein drawn in and the edges carefully serrated.

She touched it with wondering fingers, amazed that Jack always managed to find the most perfect gifts. Setting the box aside, she opened the envelope carefully.

 

_Darling Phryne,_

_I will be honest with you—I almost forgot that it was Valentine’s Day. My only excuse is that it seems that every day with you is a celebration of love. Even as I write that, it seems ridiculously sappy, but it is also very true. I wake up every morning with you, and I am happy. I go to sleep in your arms every night, and I am happy. I cannot tell you how very often I thank my lucky stars that you have let me into your life. I hope that you are just as happy when you are with me; if you are not, know that I will redouble my efforts to give you everything that you need. You are my everything, Phryne Fisher. I will love you all the days of my life._

_Your Jack_

 

Phryne rolled her lips together, deeply touched. Jack told her often that he loved her, but it warmed her every time. With a grin, she rolled out of bed, determined that she needed to do something to show Jack just how much she loved and appreciated him.

~~~♥♥♥♥♥~~~

When Jack arrived at Wardlow after his shift that day, he came in to the sound of jazz playing on the stereo and the scents of roasting chicken and baking bread in the air. He sniffed appreciatively as he hung up his overcoat and hat, then shrugged out of his suit jacket, laying it carefully over the banister before heading into the parlor. Phryne and Jane sat together on the sofa, both of their heads turned to the parlor doorway. Jane wore the heart necklace, and the rose pin secured Phryne’s scarf at her shoulder. Both were smiling.

“Hello, ladies,”  he said. “You look like you’re planning something. Should I be frightened?” His smile softened the question. They were both lovely; Jane’s beauty made him wonder how many hearts she would break as she went through life, and Phryne’s made his heart beat faster, knowing that she’d chosen him.

“We have been, actually,” Jane said, her voice sweet. Standing, she crossed to him and pulled him over to the piano, where two letters sat on the music stand. Pushing him down to sit on the piano bench, she handed him one of the envelopes and situated herself in the curve of the piano. Phryne walked over to stop the record, then came up to stand behind Jane, her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

Jack tilted his head at them before opening the letter he’d been handed.

 

_Dear Dad,_

_I knew, when Phryne let me stay, that I had to be a lucky girl. Sure, the last few years had been hard, but look where they’d brought me! And we were happy, Phryne and I, two ladies against the world. But you were always there, first as a friend and mentor, and now as her love and my father. I never really knew my birth father, since he died when I was very small, but I’d like to think that he would love me the way that you do, and that he’s grateful that you have come to stand in for him. It feels wonderful to have a father; I think that I’m the very luckiest girl there is, because now I have you too._

_Happy Valentine’s Day. Thank you for my locket, and for being there for me._

_Love always, Jane_

 

Jack swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears. He rolled his lips together as he carefully folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope. Looking up at Jane, he smiled a little tremulously.

“Don’t cry, Dad!” She said, rounding the corner of the piano to hug him.

Jack’s arms came around her and he buried his head in her shoulder, breathing her in. After a moment, he pulled away, bring his fingers up to pinch her chin. Meeting her eyes, he nodded.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling girl,” he said, his voice a rumble.

Jane flashed him a sweet smile, then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll leave you two alone now,” she said, spinning away and leaving the room, turning to give a small wave from the door.

Jack followed her with his eyes, raising his hand to echo her wave before turning to Phryne.

“That young lady is a treasure,” he said, clearing his throat.

“And she adores you, Jack,” Phryne replied, coming around the piano to settle herself beside him on the bench. He wrapped an arm around her and she placed a hand on his knee, laying her head on his shoulder. “Almost as much as I do.” He turned to place a soft kiss on her lips. She hummed with pleasure. “Open mine now, darling,” she said, reaching for the other, larger envelope.

Jack shook his head. “You two will spoil me,” he said, accepting the envelope from her. Phryne just grinned and laid a kiss on his cheek, laughing softly as she rubbed away the lipstick mark she’d left there.

Sliding his finger under the flap of the envelope, Jack shook out the contents. A sheaf of sheet music came out first, followed by a smaller envelope. He glanced at Phryne as he turned the music to read the title.

“ _I’ve Got a Crush on You_?” He said, not familiar with the tune.

“Well, that’s good, because I have a crush on you too,” Phryne cheeked. He smirked at her.

“Should I read the letter, or play the music first?”

“Hm, the letter, I think.”

Jack nodded, setting the music on the stand, then opened the letter.

 

_Darling Jack,_

_I confess, Valentine’s Day has never held much appeal for me. My former beaus seemed to consider it a challenge to be met, but they usually failed rather spectacularly. You, on the other hand, did not. The pin is lovely, but your letter was the real gift. No. You are the real gift, my Jack. You have taught me that to love and be loved doesn’t necessarily mean that I lose everything that makes me who I am; you taught me that real love makes both the giver and the recipient more, somehow. Better. _

_This sheet music says it all. I have a crush on you, Jack Robinson, and I hope that it never goes away._

_Your Phryne_

 

Jack looked up at her, his eyes bright. He didn’t feel the urge to cry over this letter—on the contrary, it made him feel ten feet tall. He leaned in to lay a kiss on her smiling lips as he tucked the letter back into its envelope and laid it atop Jane’s.

“Shall we give this music a try?” He said, smiling down at his lady.

“Absolutely, Jack,” she replied, her answering smile wide and free.

He laid his hands against the keys and played; together they sang the lyrics, exchanging smiling glances at the chorus, where the words were particularly apt.

_I’ve got a crush on you, sweetie pie_  
_All the day and night-time hear me sigh_  
_I never had the least notion that_  
_I could fall with so much emotion_

_Could you coo, could you care_  
_For a cunning cottage we could share_  
_The world will pardon my mush_  
_Cause I’ve got a crush, my baby, on you_

Jack finished the chorus with a flourish on the keys, making Phryne laugh. She threw her arms around him, hugging him exuberantly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jack,” she whispered into his ear, “I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

He turned on the bench to wrap his arms around her as well. “The feeling, my darling Phryne, is entirely mutual. Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.” He kissed her, capturing her smile with his lips, and thanking whoever might be listening for the gift of this woman.

~~~♥♥♥♥♥~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the locket and the rose pin are modeled after pieces that were left me by my grandmother. They might be a slightly newer vintage than 1930, but not by much. :D


	13. Love Isn't Blind

Phryne woke slowly as Dot opened the curtains with a hearty, “Good morning, miss!”

The sun was warm on Phryne’s face, and she mumbled her usual morning greeting while her eyelids lifted sluggishly. She had been out late the night before, clubbing with friends, and she’d come home to snuggle up to Jack quite satisfactorily. He didn’t mind it when she woke him, she knew. She smirked a little, remembering his enthusiastic response to her late-night seduction.

Catching the sheet to her breasts to cover her nudity, she sat up in bed and Dot was there with a robe for her to slide her arms into.

“Thank you, Dot,” she said sweetly. “You are a treasure.”

“Not at all, miss,” Dot said, her cheeks pinkening at the praise. She turned to lift the breakfast tray she’d set on the sofa to lay it over Phryne’s lap.

“Mmm, an absolute treasure,” Phryne repeated as she poured her first cup of tea.

With a smile, Dot lifted the dress Phryne had worn the night before from where she’d dropped it onto the arm of the sofa. _Strange,_ Dot thought, _it’s carefully folded instead of discarded haphazardly. Perhaps Miss Phryne was picking up some of the inspector’s neat habits._ Shaking the dress out, she wrinkled her nose. It reeked of cigarette smoke and liquor. It would take some careful laundering to get those scents out.

“Did you have a good time last night, miss?” She asked, draping the dress over her arm and bending to pick up the stockings and lingerie scattered about the room.

“Hm? Oh, yes, it was lovely, thanks,” Phryne said, glancing up from the piece of paper she held, her eyes twinkling.

“What’s that, miss?” Dot eyed the paper—it looked like one of the letters from the inspector, but she didn’t remember it being on the breakfast tray.

“A letter from Jack,” Phryne confirmed. “I found it under my pillow.”

Dot heard the barely contained amusement in her miss’s tone and cocked her head in inquiry.

“Listen to this,” Phryne said, and began to read aloud.

 

_Darling Phryne,_

_You are a joy to me in all the areas of my life; I am so fortunate to share this house and this room with you. But you, my dearest, are a slob. And you laid your rather fragrant dancing dress atop my overcoat, which now smells rather disgustingly of burnt tobacco and whisky. If I am lucky, Mr Butler will be able to help me disinfect it; if I am not, I’ll be receiving sidelong glances from my constables all day long. But at least I will have your presence by my side until I can eventually return to you._

_Until tonight, your Jack_

 

Phryne’s laughter rang free on the last line, and Dot let hers follow suit.

“He’s right, miss, it is rather fragrant,” Dot said, lifting the ends of Phryne’s dress.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad, surely!” Phryne leaned toward her to smell it, wrinkling her nose as she caught a whiff. “Good lord! I hope Mr Butler was able to assist Jack this morning—do you know?”

“I believe that I saw him working on the coat while the inspector ate breakfast,” Dot responded with a small smile.

“That’s good,” Phryne sighed. At a sudden thought, she pulled her hair toward her nose and gave it a good sniff. “Eaugh!” She said, pulling a face.

Jack must have been even more enthusiastic the night before than she’d thought, since her hair also smelled of the same rank bouquet. Marvelous man. He hadn’t let on at all—but perhaps he’d been too distracted by her hands to notice.

“Right, I think a bath is called for, Dot,” she said, taking her toast between her teeth and climbing out of bed.

Munching as she crossed to the bathroom to turn on the water, Phryne smiled. Once she was back to smelling of French perfume, she’d pay a visit to her inspector and make sure that she was forgiven.


	14. Letter from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This idea for this chapter came about during a brainstorming session with Fire_Sign about a prompt she got from Whopooh. The prompt was to think about what would have happened if either Phryne or Jack was injured and the other couldn’t be the one taking care of them. I hope you don’t mind me stepping in on this too much, Whopooh! I’m sorry to hijack it, but not really sorry because what a prompt! I hope I’ve done it justice.

Jack stood in front of the bookshelves in the parlor at Wardlow, pondering his choices for reading material on a lazy Sunday morning. Phryne was still sleeping, but he hadn’t been able to stay abed any longer.

He scanned the shelves. He’d read all of these books at least once already, whether his own copies or Phryne’s, but his eye caught on many of his favorite stories. Spying a slim copy of Antony and Cleopatra, he drew it out with a satisfied sigh. This must be Phryne’s copy—his was upstairs on their bedside table, but it was a favorite. Book in hand, he returned to the chair in front of the fire, picking up his teacup from the loaded tray as he sat down.

Taking a sip of tea, he let the book fall open on his lap, content to read whatever section fate brought him to. Jack found it fascinating to do this with Phryne’s books—the sections of a book’s binding that were most often read were loosest and could be revealed this way. He loved seeing the parts that appeared to be Phryne’s favorites; they often surprised him.

This time, the book fell open to a bundle of folded pages. A letter? Jack shook his head and smiled softly. She knew him so well—she’d hidden one of her notes here, in his favorite play, knowing that eventually he’d find it. Setting his cup and the book down on the tea tray, Jack opened the packet and began to read, his smile slowly falling away as he realized that it was not a single letter, but several, and likely not meant for him at all.

 

_22 March 1929_

_Dear Jack,_

_As I write this letter, you are lying in hospital, alone but for the constable stationed at your door. Hugh told Dot that you were injured in some sort of raid, but he won’t give her any details, and he’ll barely speak to me. He knows that you have decided to distance yourself from me and our friendship following the arrest of Ailsa Wilton. It doesn’t appear that you’ve told him why, but that hardly matters. He believes that you would not want my presence next to your hospital bed, so he’s left orders that I am not to be admitted._

_All I can think, Jack, is that I should be beside you—whatever else we have been or will be to each other, you are my friend, and it hurts me to think of you isolated and in pain. I am sorry to have hurt you so badly that we cannot even be friends anymore, and your absence over the past few days has been a wound the likes of which I had no idea I would suffer._

_I hope very much that you are soon restored to your full health._

_Your friend always, Phryne_

Jack sat back in the chair, stunned, and read the letter again. He’d had no idea that Phryne had even tried to get in to see him during that hospital stay—he remembered it well: He’d participated in a raid on a brothel, and had taken first a knife wound in the leg and then a bullet in the shoulder. He remembered how reckless he’d been during the raid, too—he’d just realized that he loved Phryne and he’d walked away from her rather than risk her breaking his heart.

He shook his head at his own foolishness. All he’d accomplished was to break his own heart, leaving himself open to the inattention that got him injured. He looked down at the letters in his hands. He was almost certain that Phryne had never intended him to see these letters, but he didn’t want to stop reading them. They were a window into her mind that he’d never anticipated. After a brief hesitation, he flipped the first letter to the back of the stack and read the second.

_24 March 1929_

_Dear Jack,_

_Almost three full days in hospital, Inspector Robinson? That seems a little excessive, don’t you think? I’m certain that you cannot be so badly injured as all that, or Hugh would have said something. Seems like it’s about time you stopped malingering and got back to work._

_In all seriousness, it’s important that you get well. This city cannot hold itself together for long, and your honor and commitment to duty seem to inspire the men under your command. I hate to think what might become of City South without your presence; chaos would reign in Melbourne before too much time passed, as you are the finest and most diligent member of its constabulary._

_I wish that I could see you in person to tell you this. I hope that you are recovering well and will soon be back at your desk; even if you don’t wish to see me, it comforts me to know that you are there._

_As ever, your friend, Phryne_

 

Jack smiled slightly as he read. How like her to hide her fear behind humor. Malingering indeed. And himself as the “finest and most diligent member of the constabulary”—he shook his head. He was no such thing, though he felt a warmth suffuse him at the thought that she might think so. He shuffled the second letter to the back of the pile and continued to the third.

 

_25 March 1929_

_Dear Jack,_

_Hugh told Dot today that you have been released from the hospital and are headed home for a few days’ recuperation before you return to the job. I considered having Mr Butler make you up a basket of your favorite foods so that you would not have to fend for yourself, and I even got so far as to plan the dishes I’d ask him to include before I thought the better of it; I don’t think you would accept it. And as I’m almost certain that you would prefer me to keep at a distance, I will write to you instead, knowing that I will likely never send these letters._

_I do worry for you, Jack, knowing that you are all alone in your recovery. I hope that you have other friends who will aid you, should you need it. I also hope that you know, despite your current unwillingness to be in my presence, that I am thinking fondly of you and wishing you a speedy recovery._

_I miss you, my friend, and I trust that eventually we will bridge this breach between us. The lack of your steady presence in my life has been surprisingly difficult, and I find myself at a loss for how to regain it. When did you become so important to me? And how? I thought that I had barricaded myself against the kind of feelings you engender, but you’ve somehow found your way through. I’m not certain that it’s even a good thing, but the idea of remaining cut off from you fills me with sorrow, so I will find a way to move forward. If I can regain your friendship, that will be enough, I think._

_Please get well soon—I am not really very patient, and I would hate to vex you with my efforts before you are fully recovered._

_Ever your friend, Phryne_

 

Jack thought back to those days at home after the raid. He’d had visitors—Hugh had come by, as had Rosie. He remembered doing his best to distract himself from the fact that Phryne hadn’t come, reminding himself that he was the one who’d broken off their… partnership. If she had sent a basket with Hugh or Dot, he might even have turned it away out of stubborn pride, but it would have warmed him to know that she was thinking of him.

And to know that she had been thinking of him in such a way—he was shocked. He’d known, he supposed, that she valued his friendship, but this seemed deeper than that. Had she cared for him even then? He shook his head again. There was no going back, he supposed, and he thought that things had likely turned out the way they had to—if he’d pressed her then, she would have retreated. She hadn’t been ready to be in love.

If he was honest, he’d admit that he hadn’t really been ready to be in love then, either. He’d tried to separate himself from her out of fear that she’d break his heart, but he thought that he might have been even more frightened if she’d loved him back. He would have been half delirious joy, half utter panic—at the time, he’d still had her on a pedestal and he would have pushed himself too hard, attempting to match her perfection. With a small sigh, he turned to the last letter in the stack.

 

_27 March 1929_

_Dear Jack,_

_One last letter before I put this habit aside. It’s becoming maudlin, and I cannot abide that._

_I want to take this chance to say that you were right. I behaved badly when I put that stocking in your tailpipe. I should have trusted you to see Ailsa’s remorse the way that I had, as a sincere wish to own up to her mistake. I should have let you help her as you have helped so many others, and I am sorry that I didn’t and even more sorry that it made you uncertain of my trust in you._

_My only excuse—and it’s really no excuse at all—is that you frightened me, Jack. It terrified me to know that my death would have hurt you so deeply; it made me consider what I’d feel if anything happened to you, and I panicked at the horror that idea invoked. I have not allowed myself to care this deeply for any man in a very long time, and I never intended to care so deeply for you. I called you my friend in my previous letters, and you are that; perhaps my best friend, though Mac would be upset to hear it. But you are more than that to me, Jack, so much more. I don’t know whether anything will ever come of these feelings—I may never get you to forgive me for my behavior on that case, and even if you do, I’m not sure that I am brave enough to tell you how I feel—but at least I’m aware of it now. Perhaps someday you will be too._

_Yours always, Phryne_

 

He read the last letter again. She had never apologized to him about the end of that case—her demonstrated lack of trust had hurt him more than he’d thought possible. Knowing that she’d understood, eventually, why he was so hurt, and now knowing why she’d reacted the way she had healed something that he hadn’t known was hurting.

And to see her admit to feeling something deeper than friendship made his heart swell. He’d never realized that she might have returned his feelings so early in their association, but he hadn’t ever asked her. He wondered why not—was he afraid of her answer or was he just so happy she loved him now that he never really examined it?

He let out a breath and stood, his mind racing. He needed to see her—she would grumble if he woke her, but maybe he could just crawl back into bed beside her and hold her. And if she did wake, well, he’d just have to do his best to make it up to her. Leaving the tea things on the table, he headed up the stairs at a fast clip, the letters clutched tightly in one hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Chapter 13 of [Down and Dirty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4809062), in which Jack wakes Phryne and has to make it up to her.


	15. In Sickness and in Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne's ill, and Jack is keeping her up to date on a case.

_7:30 am_

_Phryne darling,_

_I’m off to the station. Mac came down for breakfast, and I heard her giving Mr Butler (and me, most likely) strict orders that you are not to stir from your bed for at least a full day. Your fever yesterday was frighteningly high, and I do hope that you will heed her, if perhaps only to lay my worries to rest?_

_If you need me today, send a note with one of your cab drivers; I’ll leave word at the station about where I’ll be. I plan to track down Frank Jameson first thing—you were right about him knowing the victim—and we’ll see what he can tell us._

_Get your rest, love. I need you back on the case._

_J_

\-----

_9:30 am_

_Dear Jack,_

_Mac is, and has always been, a worrywart. It’s true that I was ill, but I’ll soon have my strength back and be fit as the proverbial fiddle, whatever that means._

_I will leave Frank Jameson to you, I think, though I do have to wonder at your tone of surprise about my being right. Of course he knew our victim—they both drank at that horrible bar every night. How could they have avoided each other? Do check to see whether he has a pocket watch, though, won’t you? One of my sources said that Billy Bard had just received an inheritance from a great-uncle that included a silver one. Perhaps greed is our motive?_

_It is frightfully early still—how you manage this every morning, I’ll never know—and you’ll be happy to hear that I plan to go back to sleep. Let me know how you progress?_

_P_

\-----

_11:00 am_

_Darling,_

_I’ve asked Cec to bring you this note, but to give it to Mr Butler for delivery—I hope you’ll still be sleeping when it arrives._

_I did ask Jameson about that watch. He claimed that he didn’t have anything of the sort—though he did finally admit to having known Billy Bard. They’d had a run-in a while back, over a woman: One Tessa King, who apparently works at the tea shop down the street from the pub. Jameson seemed to think that Bard was moving in on his territory there, and they had a bit of a dust-up, but both walked away after. I’m off to find Miss King next, to see if I can get her side of the story._

_I’d hoped to make it home for lunch, but it’s not looking good at this point. I’ll be there as soon as I can._

_J_

\-----

_12:30 pm_

_Jack,_

_As much as I love your company, you don’t need to coddle me. I’m perfectly fine, I promise. Mr B has fed me lunch in bed—such decadence!—and I am stuffed full of chicken soup and ginger tea; I’ll tuck myself up with a book as soon as I finish this note._

_I’ve met Tessa King, I think, when I went around the crime scene area and spoke to the business owners (those who would speak to me, anyway—I think the coughing put them off). Somehow, I doubt that she was any “territory” of Jameson’s, or Bard’s for that matter. She had a man who watched her—I didn’t get his name, but he had a silver front tooth and the nose of a terrible pugilist. Maybe he knows something that will help you?_

_Do watch out for those fists, though—terrible pugilist he might be, but he had hands the size of hams. I’d hate to see you come home damaged._

_P_

\-----

_4:30 pm_

_Darling P,_

_I think that I should find it disturbing that you can solve a case without even being present, but I also think that I shouldn’t be surprised by it anymore._

_Collins and I found Miss King leaving the tea house on the arm of her gentleman friend, a mister Rodney Travers—he of the silver tooth and unfortunate nose. When asked about Billy Bard, Miss King would only say that she’d “stepped out” with him a few times, and that she’d stopped seeing him a few weeks before, when he’d gotten into a tussle with another of her supposedly past swains. She denied that she had seen him since then, but her nervous glances toward her escort made me think that she was not telling the whole truth._

_When I asked Travers if he’d known Billy Bard, he said he hadn’t; I followed that question by asking if he had the time, and he pulled out a lovely silver pocket watch to give it to me. It took a bit of persuasion—and don’t worry, Mac says that the bruising around my eye will go down in a day or two—but I brought both Travers and Miss King down to the station. After some questioning, Miss King admitted that Bard had come to see her two nights ago, begging her to come back to him. When she’d tried to put him off, he’d refused to go. Travers had stepped in, fisticuffs ensued, and Travers hit Bard a bit harder and more often than he might have had he been sober._

_When confronted with this testimony, Travers admitted to it, saying that Bard had deserved it for bothering his girl. No remorse whatsoever, and as it turns out, Travers is also wanted in Queensland and New South Wales on a variety of charges that would have put him behind bars for a considerable time had he not been headed for the hangman for this one._

_I hope that you are feeling better, my love, because if you can do this kind of work from your bed, consider how much more effective you’ll be when you can get out._

_I have some paperwork to do to wrap up this case, and then I’ll be home. Perhaps you and Mr Butler will indulge me with a bedside picnic? When you’re feeling more yourself, I’ll take you dancing, but for tonight, what do you say to a quiet evening in?_

_Your Jack_

\-----

_5:00 pm_

_Darling Jack,_

_A quiet evening in sounds just the thing for a couple of invalids—and yes, you too have been ordered to bed for an early night by none other than our favorite doctor. Don’t worry, though; I’ll keep you company._

_Mr Butler is working on our picnic even now, and he’ll serve it as soon as you are tucked up beside me. Hurry home, please—all of this long-distance sleuthing is exhausting, and I find that I need someone to help me relax._

_Your Phryne_


	16. The Scent of a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is out of town, and Phryne is drunk and missing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Meldanya and TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy for helping me brainstorm ideas about what Jack might smell like. These are the questions that keep me up at night, people.

Phryne snuggled beneath the covers of her bed. She’d been tossing and turning for forty-five minutes, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t actually lonely; she was just wishful. And maybe a little lustful. Rolling over yet again, she sighed heavily. Jack had been gone for three weeks, and he wasn’t due back for at least another—the case he was assisting with up in Sydney was proving to be a difficult one—and she missed him dreadfully. 

She’d just returned from a night out with Mac at a club where the whiskey had been plentiful but the men few. Her choice—she hadn’t wanted to be tempted into doing something she’d regret, especially since she’d planned to get very drunk. She’d managed the drunkenness—Mac had had to support her up the steps to Wardlow and then into bed—and her head was still spinning rather unpleasantly. But the point had been to fall asleep without Jack Robinson beside her, something that had proved to be a challenge over the last several days.

The first week had been fine—she had missed him then, too, of course, but he’d been gone that long before. The second week had been harder, even though their letters were, as always, a bit risqué. But this last week had been nearly untenable. She’d tried reading into the night, working late, drinking alone, drinking with friends, and now going out to dance, but so far, none had helped. In each case, she spent a very long time lying awake before sleep overcame her.

“This is redic— ricul— silly,” she finally said aloud. “I’ll just write him a letter. Tell him it’s time to come home.” Pushing the covers aside, she rose unsteadily and moved toward her vanity. She kept writing paper, pen, and ink in the drawer of her bedside table, and she fumbled to pull out the necessary supplies. Blowing her hair out of her face, she sat down and began to write.

 

_Dear Jack,_

_It’s ~~Wednesday~~ Thursday, and you’ve been gone far too long. I find that I cannot sleep without you beside me, and you know how much I enjoy my sleep. When are you coming home?_

_I miss you, damn it, and it’s not fair. I keep getting whiffs of you as I go about my day, beginning the moment I step into my bath (scent of sandalwood and ~~shaavg~~ shaving cream). I go down to breakfast and I smell you in the day’s toast (orange marmalade and a hint of starched collars) before finding you again in the garden on my way to the garage (potting soil and green things) and again when I reach the car (sunshine and saltwater, as if we’ve just returned from the beach)._

_How is it that you’re so Here, Jack, when you are decidedly Not Here? It seems that, if I can perceive you with my nose, I should also be able to feel you in my arms._

_I smell you again at the station, the scent of men and sweat and hair cream permeating there, with an underlying sweetness of Anzac biscuits and tea that are not being eaten and ~~drank~~ drunk by you. Drunk? Drank? If I hadn’t had so much whiskey tonight, I would know. I wish you were here to correct me._

_I even went dancing with Mac, which I know you hate, and there you were in the a scent of leather and tobacco. Someone there was wearing the same aftershave that you do, Jack, and I followed her around for a good five minutes, sniffing. Even the whiskey reminded me of you._

_It’s intolerable. I am an ~~inb~~ ~~idepnen~~ independent woman who was perfectly happy to live alone and unfettered by any man. I should be fine without your presence or I should resent you for your absence, but neither appears to be within my power. _

_Please come home soon, darling—the scent of yours that I have not found is the one that wafts through the air of our bedroom after we make love. It’s the scent of sex and joy and love and home, and I need it like a flower needs the sunlight. Like peas need carrots. Like tea needs milk. Well, my tea, anyway. Not yours, but maybe like yours needs a biscuit._

_I hope you can read this, as my penmanship is almost as bad as yours tonight. Come home soon, my Jack. I miss you._

_Your Phryne_

 

Phryne folded the letter and tucked it into an envelope, writing the direction on the outside as clearly as she could. Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy now, and she carefully set the envelope on the tray beside the door before turning back to the bed. She was preparing to get under the covers when she paused. Moving into the closet, she pulled out one of the soft flannel shirts that Jack wore for gardening. It had been laundered, but it still bore the remnant of his scent. She wrapped it around herself and climbed into bed, pulling his pillow close and wrapping her arms around it. Eyes closing, she pressed her face into the pillow, searching for traces of him; she sighed, content in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be long now before he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Chapter 16 of [Down and Dirty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4809062), in which Jack comes home posthaste.


	17. A Good, Strong Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne have not been writing letters as often (sorry about that), but Phryne finds a reason after Jack helps with a household chore.

Jack Robinson was sifting through the papers in his inbox, trying to decide which bundle of paperwork was the most pressing today, when he found the small envelope with his name in Phryne’s handwriting on the outside. When had that gotten there? He’d only left home an hour before, and if it wasn’t for the morning meeting he’d had scheduled with the commissioner, he’d have been here even earlier. He smiled. How like Miss Fisher to keep him on his toes.

As he slid the letter opener under the envelope’s flap, he considered. Their letter-writing had fallen off as their everyday lives had become so intertwined. He rather missed it, now that it came to mind. Perhaps it was time to begin again. Maybe a response to this one would be in order.

> _Dear Jack,_
> 
> _I realize that you have a job to do, and I am truly thankful that you made yourself available to Bert and Cec when they needed help carrying our new refrigerator, but I’m afraid you’ve left me in a bit of a bind._
> 
> _I was fine, you see, until you stripped off to your undershirt and trousers and put all of your arm muscles on display. The flexing, Jack! And that vein that runs up your bicep! I’m afraid I conceived ideas that you were then unavailable to help me fulfill._
> 
> _I tried to take care of it myself, Jack, but it wasn’t the same. So I will simply languish until you can get away, teasing myself with my imaginings. Perhaps you could come home at lunchtime and recreate the scene for me? You won’t need much in the way of props._
> 
> _If you can’t get away, I’m sure that I will understand; there’s always this evening, I suppose. But do consider it, won’t you?_
> 
> _Yours, P_

Jack grinned. She’d liked that, had she? He could still feel the slight achiness of muscles well-used across his shoulders and down his arms. That appliance had been terribly heavy and awkward—it had taken all three of them to get it into the kitchen, and the old one moved out for disposal. He’d already been dressed for the day when her red-raggers had come in looking for help, so he’d just shucked the top half of his suit in hopes that he could keep it clean.

He looked at his date book and the stacks of paperwork to be filed, and his smile fell. There was no way he could get away midday today. At least that gave him a reason to write back to her. He pulled a sheet of stationery from his desk and considered for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he applied himself to his reply.

> _Darling Phryne,_
> 
> _I am very sorry to have left you in distress this morning. I hadn’t realized, when you tried to pull me upstairs, just how dire your need was. There is no excuse for my behavior, and I’m terribly afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you once again—my day is fully spoken for, so I won’t be able to get away at lunchtime._
> 
> _I will certainly be home for dinner, however—perhaps we could dine alfresco, in the sun? I’m certain that I could be persuaded to dress less formally than is my usual habit for such a meal. Who knows—there might even be something heavy that I need to carry for you. We’ll make do, I suppose._
> 
> _Until then, may I suggest that you find a good book? Perhaps one from the center shelf on the left in the parlor? I think you know the collection I refer to._
> 
> _Yours ever, Jack_

Jack’s smile as he stuffed the letter into an envelope was small and secretive. He’d forgotten how fun this could be—this level of flirting on an otherwise ordinary day.

“Collins!” His voice wasn’t loud, but his senior constable arrived promptly in his doorway. Jack looked up at him. Marriage seemed to agree with Hugh—his crime-solving skills were growing by leaps and bounds, likely because his wife kept him on his toes.

“See this delivered to Miss Fisher straightaway, will you, Collins?” Jack rested his elbow on his desk as he held out the envelope. “She should still be at home. Oh, and you should ask the man to see if he needs to wait for a reply.”

“Right away, sir,” Collins said, barely blinking at the odd request. 

He turned sharply and left the office; as soon as he cleared the doorway, Jack heard him calling for a junior officer. Jack supposed that he should feel ashamed of using police resources this way, but he wasn’t, particularly. Thanks to some of the sensational and high-profile cases his team had solved since Miss Fisher came along, admission to the police academy was up, and they had plenty of raw recruits who needed to get out on the street. 

Shaking his head, he reached for the stack of paperwork he’d prioritized. He’d best get moving if he was to finish in time for dinner.

When the constable returned with Phryne’s reply, Jack was out on an interview, so it was midafternoon before he could read it. He settled himself behind his desk, pulling the letter—which someone, likely Collins, had left in the middle of his blotter—toward him. He smiled in anticipation of Phryne’s likely smart reply.

> _Dear Jack,_
> 
> _I suppose I can understand that only work would keep you from my loving arms. Are you certain that it must take all day, though? Perhaps you can take pity on a poor, needy woman and find a way to take off early._
> 
> _If not, I will console myself with thoughts of the picnic Mr. Butler is preparing. Do let me know if you have any special requests, darling. I was wondering_ — _shall we sit out of doors or make a feast on the carpet inside? I can think of one room that would be particularly conducive to picnicking—the rug beside the fireplace in our bedroom is very comfortable, don’t you think? I will be sure to scatter some heavy things about for you to lift, just to prove you can._
> 
> _I did find a lovely book with which to while away my afternoon. I think you’ll approve—it shouldn’t tax my mind too much, as it is primarily pictures. You might enjoy it, actually. And it is very good-sized, being built to lay open as the reader’s hands are busy elsewhere._
> 
> _Don’t be late for dinner, darling. It’s going to be scrumptious, I can tell already._
> 
> _xoxo Phryne_

Jack’s smile was half a groan—he could picture her, curled up on their bed with a dirty book, her hands busy as she looked at the pictures. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. Three more hours before he could leave. Perhaps one more reply, then. He drew out another sheet of stationery, this time writing quickly.

> _Darling Phryne,_
> 
> _I must be seen to have plausible deniability about that book, so I’m afraid I’ll have to get you to turn the pages for me. That seems a good compromise, doesn’t it?_
> 
> _If possible, it’d be lovely if Mr. Butler could put his hands on some strawberries. Those make excellent picnic food, I think. We’ll just have to be careful not to get too sticky when sharing them._
> 
> _I should be home right around half six, and earlier if I drive the way you do. I hope that gives you enough time to prepare our picnic location. Your suggestion seems perfect; much as I love the outdoors, it does look a bit like rain, so inside is likely the better choice. I look forward to whatever else is on the menu._
> 
> _Yours, Jack_

Calling once again for Collins to deliver the message, Jack rolled his shoulders, rotating his head on his neck in an effort to ease the tension there before he applied himself to his work. With a smile, he picked up his pen again. Phryne had a way of distracting him even when she wasn’t present, but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Chapter 17 of [Down and Dirty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4809062), in which Jack comes home posthaste.


End file.
